


Small Victories

by Wicked42



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Dancing, Drunk David, F/M, Gwen getting pissed, Max being a little shit, Max learns a lesson, Sickfic, Spiked Punch, gwenvid - Freeform, or rather milkshake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42
Summary: In which Max spikes the punch (or rather, milkshakes), David is a lightweight, and Gwen gets pissed.Based off @spicymangooo 's picture on tumblr!





	Small Victories

She should have known Max would _somehow_ manage to fuck up a _milkshake_ social.

David thought they were safe. “Max loves ice cream,” he’d said, waving off Gwen’s concern with that stupid, bright smile. “He promised he’d be good.”

“Because his word is worth _so_ much,” Gwen muttered.

David clapped her on the shoulder. “Exactly!” Humming, he strolled into the kitchen, hauling out their last two containers of ice cream.

Quartermaster stood ready with an ice cream scooper in place of his hook, and glared at David long enough it got uncomfortable.

With a laugh, David turned heel and took Gwen’s arm and said, “Oookay, QM’s got this. Let’s go round up the kiddos! They’re going to be so excited.”

 

* * *

 

Alone in the kitchen, Quartermaster uncorked a bottle of vanilla vodka and portioned one cup for himself.

Outside the mess hall, nose pressed against the glass, Max grinned.

 

* * *

  

They didn’t waste time divvying up the already melting shakes. The kids fought for their favorite add-ins, turning the fun social into something of a bloodbath. Max, however, bypassed the chaos to pluck the final cup off the counter. He strolled up to the counselors.

“Here, David. You deserve one too. You’ve been working _so hard_.”

Gwen squinted at him suspiciously. “What did you do, you little shit?”

But David plucked the cup from him with a happy gasp. “Oh, thank you! That’s so nice! Gwen, isn’t that nice of Max?” He glanced at his co-counselor, pointedly, as if trying to reinforce this new, kind behavior.

Gwen rolled her eyes and took the shake from him, shooting Max a dirty look as she tasted it. It was a plain vanilla shake, but she rolled it around her tongue as if it were poison. Except nothing struck her as strange. It just tasted sweet. Holding Max’s gaze, she handed the cup back to David.

“That was very nice of you, Max,” she said, slowly, pressing her lips together.

The easy smile never left Max’s face, not the whole time she watched. “I know,” he said, and strolled back to his friends.

David beamed and took a big gulp of the shake.

 

* * *

  

It was spiked. Gwen should have known. That sweet taste went beyond mere ice cream, right into the realm of sugary alcoholic beverages she didn’t have the time or patience for. She preferred something stronger, a good bourbon she could savor, something that didn’t need a mixer.

But what little liquor that milkshake had in it was enough to get David _wasted_.

“Jesus, this is pretty pathetic,” Gwen muttered, crossing her arms as Max joined her across the mess hall. David was pushing the dining tables aside, sloppily, while he shouted about part _two_ of their social, the dance-off. Preparation for the Lake Lilac Summer Social, he said, but considering his current state, it sounded more like “sh-ummer shoshal.”

Max slapped his leg, tears welling in his eyes. “Are you kidding? It’s even better than I hoped!”

In the kitchen, Quartermaster checked his drink and muttered something about damn kids before tossing the switched shake into the garbage and uncorking the remains of his bottle of vodka.

 

* * *

 

Drunk David was actually a decent DJ.

Probably because he couldn’t stay still long enough to consider the songs, so it just cycled through his personal playlist, which was a happy mix of pop music and upbeat top forty hits.  

The campers crowded the dance floor, high on sugar.

David staggered up to her, cheeks rosy pink, eyes slightly glazed. He’d tied his yellow bandana around his forehead, and a tuft of red hair peeked up. It was kind of adorable, but it also meant Gwen had somehow become the _responsible_ one today, and that wasn’t somewhere she liked to be.

“Gweeeen,” he pulled out the syllable, as if he got halfway through her name and forgot the ending. His hands clapped over her shoulders, and he pulled her closer to him. “I wanna daaaance.”

Her cheeks burned. He was drunk, she had to remind herself. Drunk David didn’t know what he was saying. She carefully extracted his hands, then patted his cheek. “How about we get you some water instead?”

“Not thirsh-ty,” he pouted. His hand caught hers, and he stared at her fingers like he’d never seen them before. “You’re sh-o pretty.”

Oh, Jesus.

Across the mess hall, past a sea of dancing kids, Max raised his cup at Gwen, malicious grin firmly in place.

She was going to kill him.

 

* * *

 

“Where did you get the liquor, you little shit?” she hissed, grabbing Max by the hoodie.

He had the decency to look alarmed, trying—failing—to dislodge himself from her iron grip.

“Gwennnn?” David called.

She flinched, tugging Max further into the dark corner of the pantry. Apparently, David was a touchy-feely drunk. Not in a gross way—poor boy probably didn’t have it in him to try _that_ even when sober—but if he glomped her one more time, she might stab him.

Or kiss him.

She didn’t know.

Max smirked. “You seem tense, Gwen. Everything all right?”

“You remember that moment when all the kids laughed at you for having that goddamn teddy bear? How terrible that felt?” She waited until his smile faltered before lowering her nose to his. “I will make you feel that every fucking day if you don’t tell me where your stash is.”

It was mostly because the idea of a ten-year-old having ready access to hard liquor made her queasy, but partly because if Max had spiked one drink, he could spike dozens. And beyond the fact that David _chose_ not to drink, and this was a violation of extreme proportions, Gwen _just couldn’t handle_ this kind of drama every night.

“It was Quartermaster’s,” Max grumbled, averting his gaze.

Well, that was _one_ thing to check off the list.

“This was shitty, even for you,” she said, and left him in the dark pantry.

 

* * *

 

Since Quartermaster had gotten distracted making drinks— _drinking on the job_ , no less—he was placed in charge of supervising the dance party. Then Gwen tugged David off the dance floor, made him say goodbye to their very confused campers, and led him to their cabin.

Well, more like carried him. He’d become even clumsier than usual, stumbling over those lanky legs and leaning heavily on her shoulder. He chatted about how beautiful the weather was, how beautiful _she_ was, how he just loved her so _gosh darn much_ , and she carefully tuned him out.

Because it wasn’t real. Drunk David wasn’t Real David.

There was a very good chance he wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, and if she listened too closely, bought into his compliments, she might be the one feeling shitty tomorrow.

They were outside the counselor’s cabin when he grabbed her hand. In a surprising show of deftness, his other arm wound around her waist, tugging her flush against him. She yelped, but he just started humming, swaying in time with the music in his head.

“We sh-ould dan—” he hiccoughed, but continued as if nothing had happened, “—dance more often.”

“David… and I mean this in the nicest way… you’re drunk.”

“Drunk on _life_ ,” he said, his green eyes settling on hers. His breath hitched, and he stared at her like she was the night sky, like he had all fucking night to stargaze. “Drunk on you,” he added with a whisper.

She closed her eyes and wondered if leaning into this would really be the worst thing in the world.

 

* * *

  

His buzz didn’t last much longer.

Turned out, there was a reason David didn’t drink.

He moaned, forehead pressed against the cold plastic of the cheap-ass toilet Campbell installed because the counselors didn’t need, and Gwen quoted, “fancy-pants ceramic.” David’s whole face was flushed, sweat beading down his neck, breathing coming in fast pants as everything in his stomach—milkshake included—rebelled.

“Gwen—” he gasped, gripping the tank with white knuckles, “—am I dying?”

Gwen sat beside him, rubbing between his shoulder blades. “No, hon. That’s just the hangover.”

The door to their cabin creaked open. Gwen gritted her teeth, prepared to kill whichever kid had such a dire problem that they felt the need to interrupt _this_ , but then Max appeared, that stupid smirk still present on his lips.

“You two better not be getting nasty—” he drawled, but instantly cut himself off when his green eyes settled on David.

David, who heaved again, the sick splattering into the disgusting toilet water below.

“Did you need something, Max?” Gwen asked, far too calmly for the anger coiling in her gut. Making sure the kid was watching, she flushed the toilet, rubbing David’s back again as he trembled and moaned.

Max visibly paled.

“Shit—Shit, I didn’t think—”

“I’m aware,” she replied, cutting him off. Most days, she’d let him reach an emotional consensus on his own. Most days, she’d feel that brief sense of pride that Max had learned a lesson, _really_ learned it, that he’d become a little less of an asshole as a direct result of her and David’s influence.

Today wasn’t most days. And this wasn’t a lesson she thought she’d have to teach.

She turned back to David, and when she glanced up again, Max was gone.

 

* * *

  

When the worst of it was over, she left David with a cool cloth on his forehead, lying sideways in bed, a trash can near his pillow. The Quartermaster had done a decent job getting the campers in bed, but she still had to solve a minor tiff between Nerris and Harrison before they’d retreat to their tents.

Everyone wanted to know what happened to David.

Everyone but Max, who was already curled on his cot, bundled under his hoodie and a thin blanket. When she squinted at him from the tent’s flap, a tuft of that ratty teddy bear’s fur was visible in his clenched fists.

He didn’t look at her.

And considering the anger still simmering in her gut, that was just fine.

The campers went to bed, and she returned to David’s bedside with water and some aspirin.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, she stepped into David’s room with another glass of water. He was still sleeping, but the sun was just beginning to rise, illuminating the cabin in soft blue light, and the campers would be awake soon.

The hangover had hit so fast yesterday. She prayed it’d be gone as quickly today, now that he’d had time to sleep it off.

“David?” she murmured, shaking his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmngh,” he said, more of a groan than a response.

She sighed. “I know. Drink some water.”

Under her coaxing, he sat upright, blinking blearily. His head was probably pounding, but he offered her a tired smile and took the glass, taking a delicate sip. She sat on the end of his bed, and something crunched underneath her leg.

With a wince, she stood, plucking a tiny letter from the sheets.

A tiny letter with scribbled handwriting.

_Sorry._

Wordlessly, she showed it to David. He took the note, rubbed his forehead, and sighed. "Oh, Max." The kid was goddamn lucky David didn’t hold grudges.

Gwen, however, wasn’t ready to forgive so easily, but... it did show mild progress that Max had owned to his mistake. 

“There’s a silver lining to all this,” David said, pushing out of bed with a wince. She watched, arms crossed, as he tacked the note onto their bulletin board of small victories.

A silver lining. _So_ fucking David.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Gwen asked, a smirk tilting her lips.

He drained the glass of water before saying, “Well, _Max_ could have decided to drink that milkshake himself. And then we’d have a heck of a lot more paperwork.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and strolled for the door. “I think the silver lining is the fact that I’ll _always_ have a DD if we go out drinking.”

David massaged his temples and said, “That’s true.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, after the campers were put to bed and Gwen and David retreated to the quiet comfort of their cabin, music drifted from David’s room. Gwen finished drying her hair, slipping into a simple tank top and shorts before emerging from the bathroom.

“What are you…” but her words tapered off when she saw David, standing sheepishly in the middle of the room. During her shower, he’d cleared the space. Her eyes flicked to his cheap speakers, playing some melodious love song, then to David, holding out an inviting hand.

“I really would love to dance with you more often,” he said, and offered a nervous laugh at her incredulous look. “If—If you want to, that is.”

Gwen crossed her arms. “That depends. Am I going to have to spend the rest of tonight holding back your hair?”

He shuddered. “Jeez, I hope not.”

Chest warm, she smirked and took his hand. This time, he didn’t yank her flush against him. This time, he was gentle and considerate, one arm winding around her waist as he twirled her in time with the music.

And for once, it was just like she imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> [Once again, based off @spicymangooo 's picture on tumblr!](https://spicymangooo.tumblr.com/post/175444997227/imagine-the-punch-at-the-summer-social-getting)
> 
> I just loved this prompt. But I changed it from the punch to a random milkshake party, because if the punch were spiked, there'd be a bunch of drunk kids staggering around, and I'm not about that. More fun if it's just David, you know? :P 
> 
> But apparently I can't write anything wholesome and fluffy without throwing in some angst and whump. So... that's fun.
> 
> [And if you care to, check me out on Tumblr too! :D ](https://wicked-42.tumblr.com/)


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